Seeking

 

While sitting beneath the bodhi tree,

Whose leaves are yet to bloom,

I see the summer's crescent moon

Illuminating the sillouette of the elusive Herein.

I leap to to know where its wings will rest

and reach to offer my hands--

 

My palms are pale, naked, and open

holding the emptiness of shodows

In the trembling of my own laughter.